Page 5 of A Very Snowed In New Year
Did I mention my name autocorrects to poops for most people? And I’mstilla hopeful romantic.
SHOSHANNA:GAHHHH! WHERE ARE YOU?!?!?!
I scan through the many ALL CAPS texts, down to the one that really matters. The one that makes my heart race.
JODI:THIS IS NOT A DRILL. Get your ass over to 7th and Carmine now.
SHOSHANNA:Following Holden Archer for 15 mins!!! On foot. Heading north. COME NOW!!!
Oh.
My.
God.
Holden Holy Grail Archer.
My cab’s on 7th Avenue right now. Probably ten blocks from Carmine, heading south. Traffic is slow, not jammed. But I can still move faster on foot. “Sir?!” I tap on the plastic divider to get the driver’s attention. “Sir! I need to get out right here!” Idon’t have time to deal with paying by card, so I give him the fifty-dollar bill Nana sent me for my birthdayandChristmas, plus ten, which is the smallest bill I have and is way too big of a tip, but I tell him to keep the change becauseHolden Freaking Archer!!!!!
I hop out and fly down 7th. I don’t even have time to text my friends to let them know where I am. Thishasto be the Universe rewarding me for being bold tonight. If hot guys’ butts are my Roman Empire, then Zac Efron’s is Julius Caesar, because he formed my appreciation of boy butts, but Holden Archer’s is Virgil, because his ass in jeans is a classic epic poem that defines an era.
I don’t have time to paint a picture of his marvelous behind with words right now, because I need to concentrate on not getting hit by a car or falling down. What’s important is that after an epic, worldwide talent search, casting agents finally found the perfect actor to star as Zephyr in the film adaptation ofTheNew York Timesbest-selling romantasy seriesRiders of Storm and Fire. My favorite romantasy series by my favorite living author, who I met at a book signing in Boston. Casting that role was an even bigger deal than it was for Edward Cullen inTwilightbecause this story is HOT! NotFifty Shadeshot, but the books get spicy. They even delayed production for over a year until they found the perfect actor. And it’s him. Holden Archer.
He is twenty-two years old and hasn’t been in a ton of shows or movies yet, because he promised his mom he would focus on completing his bachelor’s degree in case the acting thing doesn’t work out (swoon!), and most of the shots he’s in feature his impossibly handsome face and expressive, ocean-blue eyes. However, I invite you to go to YouTube and find the jeans commercial he did, which had, last I checked, been viewed six million times ever since it was announced that he’d play Zephyr. It’s just him walking down the street in a white tank top andjeans on a hot summer day while women ogle him, and then he looks over his shoulder and arches an eyebrow at the camera. You will watch it seventy-five times in a row, bookmark it, watch it again whenever you need a pick-me-up, and start salivating every time you see denim of any kind or hear the song “Heat Wave” by Martha Reeves & the Vandellas.
You will forever lose your mind at the very mention of Holden Archer’s name and forget almost everything else.
Important things.
For instance, I’m now realizing that there is, in fact, another person besides my dad that I really don’t want to read my Extra Super Secret Diary…and that is whoever finds it in the cab that I left it in just now.
Chapter Two
SHERcockbLOCKed
* This is noncanonical BBC’s Sherlock self-insert fluff and probably too controversial to post, so it’s just for me! Like Brett is just for me!!!!!
Piper would have been lying if she’d told you that she wasn’t expecting to meet the love of her life that night at Eddie and Birdie’s wedding. That’s because she always expected to meet the love of her life. But she was so thrilled to be invited to this very special event at Union Station in Los Angeles that the thought of meeting the hot guy she’d spend the rest of her life with was slightly less important to her than seeing #Birdward legally unite in holy matrimony. And it was equally important to her to look after Declan and Maddie’s baby, of course, since that was officially why she had traveled from New York with them. She felt beautiful in her pink dress, and it was Valentine’s Day, after all. Here was an adult woman who celebrated loveand romance every day of her life, but she was always extra excited on February fourteenth—the one day of the year when many people in the rest of the world focused on love and romance as much as she did.
Meanwhile, Sherlock was grumbling in an English accent with his deep, sexy voice, deriding his friend John for convincing him to accept the LAPD’s request for him to do some undercover work in Los Angeles. It didn’t matter to him at all that John was all the way across the Pond and could not hear him. There was no one he’d rather talk to than John Watson. But John was now married to Mary. And just like at John and Mary’s wedding, Sherlock was feeling something entirely unfamiliar and uncomfortable—loneliness. For the bride and groom looked so happy together. And as an internationally renowned, universally respected detective who must not allow anything quite so mundane as human emotions to distract him, he was even less likely to admit this to anyone—he felt lonely because it was Valentine’s Day.
He was skulking about the train station, pretending to be a waiter. He’d been hired to catch an art thief, and he was already bored… But as he glanced at a mirror, he realized at once that the game was on: The adult woman in the pink dress behind him was about to steal something much more priceless than a painting from the Getty Museum—she was going to steal his heart. She looked so lovely it was indeed a crime. Her fringe was so symmetrical and her spectacles framed her charming face in a bewitching manner.
Piper was crossing the room to visit the loo, casually checking out all the prime West Coast man booty when the very best specimen caught her eye. She realized he was staring at her reflection in the mirror, his luscious, full lips parted, his electric-blue eyes wide. Slowly, dramatically, he turned to face her. He was holding a tray full of champagne flutes, whichhe handed to the man next to him without even looking at him. It was a baller move. He tugged on the cuffs of his crisp white shirt as he closed the distance between himself and the beguiling lady.
“You have ink stains on the palm of your right hand and the unmistakable glint of a hopeful romantic in your dazzling brown eyes. You are the author of romance. And I deduce from the yawn you just suppressed that despite your unmatchable joie de vivre, you are suffering from jet lag. Your complexion is still dewy and not dehydrated from a very long plane ride, therefore you have traveled here from the East Coast of America. Your sophistication, confidence, and obvious street smarts imply big city savoir faire. You live in Manhattan. You aren’t directly related to the bride and groom, but you’re here to look after an infant.”
“How on earth did you know that?”
He smirked smirkily. “Elementary, my darling, radiant adult woman. You’re holding a baby bottle.”
So she was. “Indeed, I am. Well played.”
“You have not seen anything yet, milady. The name’s Holmes,” he said, winking. “Sherlock Holmes. And I should call you…?”
“Anytime,” she quipped quippily.
Sherlock Holmes laughed heartily because she was so witty.
